


beating the devil.

by Seeingredfics



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Horror, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-12 16:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeingredfics/pseuds/Seeingredfics
Summary: imagine if things had turned out differently. if the losers moved away from derry, but came back earlier for their own separate, personal reasons. it had nothing to do with the nightmares lurking down in the sewers or the fading memories that haunted them in their dreams. just everyday problems they all have to come to terms with.but does that stop the monster that terrorised them all those years ago from feeling their presence? from knowing the children who had almost killed it were back? of course not. so it decides to wake up early.





	1. Richie Tozier loses his Mother

Richie was 18 years old when his Mother forgot who he was. It hadn’t been sudden but rather a torturous process of Richie and his Father picking up the signs over the years.

She would slowly start to forget where she had placed things in the house like her phone or the car keys – she had kept them in the clear, green bowl in the front hall for the past 22 years – and to anyone on the outside it would just seem like she was having an off week or just a spot in her memory. But in reality, both father and son knew what was happening.

They started noticing how she would forget certain dates, too, like her wedding anniversary or Richie’s birthday. She wouldn’t be able to think of the correct word during conversation and she would forget the names of those she had met just the other day. At one point she had started to forget what she had eaten for breakfast in the mornings. Wentworth only called the doctor the day he came home from work to find Maggie cooking scrambled eggs, bacon and pancakes at 4 in the afternoon.

‘We didn’t eat breakfast this morning, honey.’ She had smiled so sweetly at him that Wentworth wanted to look past the entire situation. Just sit down and eat his second breakfast of the day with his wife and wait for Richie to return from hanging out with his friends. Act like nothing was wrong. But he couldn’t, not when it was getting this bad. When Richie had eventually returned home, Maggie had been put to bed earlier than usual and Wentworth was sat in his armchair in the living room with a cold beer in his hand and a lit cigarette between his fingers. Richie had been more than shocked. His father never smoked in the house, it was his Mother’s first rule when they moved there, and she had been incredibly strict on it. But here he was, sat in the dim light of the TV with smoke floating up over his head without a care in the world.

‘Ma’s gonna flip her shit.’ Richie nodded at him. Wentworth barely reacted. Just a soft snort from his nose and a blink.

‘She’s sleeping.’

Richie frowned at him. ‘And? She’s got the nose of a bloodhound. She’ll sniff that sucker out before you take another puff.’

Wentworth’s eyes glossed over the TV and towards him standing in the doorway. Richie noticed how tired he looked and he froze. Something was wrong.

‘We’re going to the doctor’s tomorrow.’ He said firmly with absolutely no room for argument. ‘She isn’t well.’ Richie was honestly a little glad she was going. They had both refused to believe it for the longest time, Wentworth especially, as the idea of his wife’s mental state deteriorating before his eyes was too much for him to bear, and it hadn’t been good for any of them. Maggie needed as much help as she could get and being cooped up in their house wasn’t going to help.

The doctor had explained to them that it was a genetic issue, as both of her parents suffered from Alzheimer's and a few relatives throughout the generations of her family dating back to before they had immigrated from Ireland to America had as well. Maggie going through the same issues wasn’t uncommon. In fact, the doctor was surprised it had happened so much later on in her life. Wentworth had almost hit the man square in the jaw for that comment, and Richie was just strong enough to hold his father down in his seat before that was any sort of violence.

 

Richie had googled Alzheimer's one night in his senior year of high school, hoping to understand a little bit about what his mother was going through. He wasn’t very aware of medical issues like that, seeing as no one in Derry had suffered from anything even remotely similar. And everyone in Derry knew everything about each other. This meant that everyone and their mother found out about Maggie’s condition, that was the downside to living in such a small, nosy town. He had seen a website that was titled _‘The 7 Stages of Alzheimer’s’_ and Richie had written them all down one night to remind himself of where his mother was.

_Stage 1: No Impairment_

_Stage 2: Very Mild Decline_

_Stage 3: Mild Decline_

_Stage 4: Moderate Decline_

_Stage 5: Moderately Severe Decline_

_Stage 6: Severe Decline_

_Stage 7: Very Severe Decline_

By the time Richie was 19 and far away from Derry, Maggie Tozier had entered ‘stage 6’ of her Alzheimer’s. His research had led him through countless websites ranging from different Wikipedia articles to Medical Documents on past cases, but all of them spelled out one giant conclusion:

_Your Mother will forget about you one day._

Maybe it was harsh to think of it that way, and a little selfish, but at the same time that was the only thing running through Richie’s mind whenever he looked at her. He saw her pale, beautiful face and her dark, wild hair that matched his own, her loving smile that made him feel like a little kid all over again, and he wondered when the day would come that she’d look at him and see a total stranger.

March 6th was the first time she didn’t recognize him. Richie had been doing laundry for most of the day as it was Sunday and Wentworth preferred all the laundry to be done before the new week started. He had been sat on the dryer with one foot propped up on the washer as it shook and moaned beneath him whilst the other dangled over the edge. His converse had been repeatedly tapping against the machine for the thirty minutes it had been running but due to Richie having his headphones in he never noticed it. Maggie had, though.

She had been calmly reading one of her favorite books, something about some rich man falling in love with a stable girl – or ‘total horseshit’ as Wentworth once said. He didn’t say it to his wife, though, only to Richie. Wentworth wouldn’t dare upset her like that just because he didn’t like it himself, especially over something she loved – when she started hearing the rhythmic _tap tap tap_ from the other room. At first, she thought she was imagining things and ignored it. But as the sound kept on going her mind started to wander. She was the only one home, Wentworth had left a few hours ago to meet his buddies for a work reunion party. No one else was in the house but her, and they didn’t own any animals or have any kids, so what on earth was that noise?

Maggie carefully placed a spare grocery receipt into the center of the book, marking her page for later, and stood from the kitchen table. The tapping was coming from the laundry room as far as she could make out, and made her way through the long corridor that led off to the other rooms of the house. She couldn’t remember how many rooms there were any more, or which one led off to which room. Sometimes she’d go to the bathroom only to discover it was the dining room and it confused her, but she’d laugh it off and continue her hunt, almost making it into a game. She never saw the sad look her husband gave her when she explained it in that way. He didn’t find it very fun.

She paused outside the laundry room. The noise seemed to be louder there so she pressed her ear to the door. At first, she could only hear the tumbling of the washer and tried to think of when she put any laundry in but was cut short when she heard muffled singing. Her heart almost stopped and she felt her blood run cold at the realization that someone else was in the house. She carefully pushed the door with her fingertips, not wanting to alert whoever was inside. She caught a glimpse of curly black hair and glasses, long legs dangling down the washer and stared at the teenager in front of her. She had no idea who he was.

She covered her face with her hands and stepped back into the hallway as quietly as she could. Maggie hurried to the kitchen phone and dialed 911 as soon her shaking hands allowed her to, whispering in a panicked tone to the nice man on the other line that someone had broken in. She was terrified. More terrified than she had ever been in her entire life, and it was all because Richie had been doing laundry and singing a Bon Jovi song.

When the police arrived, Richie was heaving all of his wet clothes into the dryer, only to have the door thrown open and for two large men to grab him by his biceps. He had yelled out in surprise and almost kicked at them until he saw the badges. That’s when the confusion set in.

‘What the fuck is going on?!’

The policeman on his right, a 6’4” redhead with muscles the size of Richie’s head glared down at him.

‘You know what’s going on, son.’ He said as they started dragging Richie out of the laundry room and into the hallway. ‘You can’t expect to sneak into someone’s house and get away scot-free.’ Richie had stared at him with wide eyes.

‘This is _my_ house! I fuckin’ live here, man!’ The cops had laughed at him for a moment, leading him down towards the front door where another policeman was standing and talking into the walkie talkie on his shoulder. ‘No, seriously! Look at the fuckin’ pictures over the fireplace!’ That caught one of the cop’s attention and he snuck a curious glance over at the mantelpiece in the living room. There were an array of photographs and birthday cards placed there – Wentworth had reorganized them after his birthday the previous week – but one in the middle stood out the most to him. It was Richie’s senior photograph, standing tall and proud in the center with his crooked teeth and thick glasses on full display. He had been smiling that wide because Ben had tripped over one of the chairs in the background and Eddie had almost pissed his pants from laughing so hard. The cop paused, forcing the other to pull Richie out of his grip.

‘What is it?’ He asked his partner. The cop pointed at the photos.

‘The kids right, look.’ Richie had never felt so angry in his damn life. He yanked his arm free and took a few steps away from them.

‘Wanna explain to me what you’re doing in my house, officers?’ Richie asked, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to ignore the shaking in his hands. He had been petrified, he still was to some degree, but now he had the upper hand. If he wasn’t on the verge of shitting his pants, he’d actually feel quite powerful.

‘We received a 911 call from a woman saying someone had broken in.’ The redhead explained sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Do you know if- ‘

‘No one else is here except for me and my Mom.’ Richie told them. ‘Where is she, anyway?’ The smaller cop nodded towards the front door.

‘We told her to wait outside while we…deal with the intruder.’

Richie scoffed. ‘Well, you’ve dealt with me. So, let’s go see how the old lady is doing, shall we?’ He marched out of the house with the officers in tow and stepped out onto the front porch. He shielded his eyes from the glaring sun and squinted them so he could see the yard. There were two police cars beside the road, another officer standing in front of the one on the left. His mother was standing near their mailbox, frantically speaking to the officer that had been stood in the doorway when they first tried to drag him out of the house. She was in a panic, Richie could tell from the shrillness of her voice. It almost reminded of him of Sonia Kaspbrak’s voice when Eddie had broken his arm a few years back. Man, she had really wailed on them back then.

‘He was just sitting there!’ Maggie exclaimed, her hands shaking as she threw them into the air dramatically. ‘He didn’t even care that he had broken into my house! Oh my, what will Wentworth say when he sees all these cars?!’ Richie hopped down the front porch and walked over to his mother, licking his lips and opening his mouth.

‘Hey Ma, you good? Cops said you got a right scare because you thought- ‘

Maggie froze at the sound of Richie’s voice, and the moment her head snapped towards him, she screamed. Richie knew the entire neighborhood must have heard it, hell even his Dad could have heard it from across town in his office, sitting in his cream dentist’s chair and only briefly glancing away from the cavity he was filling and thinking: _That sounds a lot like my Mags, I hope she’s okay._

‘That’s him! Officers, arrest him! He’s the intruder! It’s him!’ She started pointing her finger at Richie and the venomous glare on her face made Richie stumble back in shock. His mother had never looked at anyone like that before. She was really angry. Or terrified. Both seemed appropriate.

‘What are you talking about? It’s me!’ Richie had to jump back as Maggie swiped at him with her hand. She had meant to slap him but he ducked just in time. The officers weren’t entirely sure how to react. The two that had been standing outside didn’t know Richie wasn’t an intruder but was, in fact, this crazy woman’s son, but the two that had been inside knew the real story. All four of them closed in on them.

‘Get him out of here!’ Maggie shouted, clawing at the officer’s arm. ‘Get him out of my sight! Breaking into my goddamn house, you vermin!’ Richie felt his heart shatter at his mother’s words and he allowed the officers to pull him away from her.

‘Mom!’ He called out as Maggie continued to glare at him. ‘Mom, it’s me! Richie! Come on, you gotta remember me!’ The officers all glanced at each other in confusion but none of them were prepared to see what happened next.

Maggie stopped dead in her tracks, almost falling limp into the policemen’s arms, and then recognition seemed to flash across her face.

‘Richie?’ She whispered. Her son nodded at her. _Her son._ It all came flooding back to her in a tsunami of emotions and memories. Falling pregnant when she was twenty-two and fresh out of college, the excitement on her boyfriend’s face after he heard the news, moving in months before Richie was born, seeing her baby boy for the first time in her arms, teaching him how to walk and talk and then hearing him sing when he was 5 years old in the school play. She remembered feeling proud of him and she remembered the immense feeling of love for him. For her Richie. And she broke down in tears on her front lawn.

Richie ran to her without a second thought and bundled her up into his arms, forcing the officers to let her go. He cradled her close to him, feeling her shuddering and sobbing into his shoulder, and stroked her hair. It was something she had done to him when he was little and Bowers and his gang of meatheads had done a number on him, and it had calmed him down pretty quickly.

‘I got you, Ma.’ He whispered as she cried. Tears pricked at his eyes but he refused to let them fall. ‘I got you. It’s okay.’

Wentworth didn’t know what to say when he returned home later that evening to Richie in the kitchen waiting for him. He had simply sat through the story in total silence until his son finished his spiel, sighed, stood up from the table, and went to the kitchen phone. Richie knew he was calling the doctor’s office again. They really couldn’t ignore it this time. Not when she was forgetting her own son. Richie had left his Dad alone in the kitchen to head upstairs, passing by his parents’ room and peeking his head inside to check on his mother. She was fast asleep, thankfully, and snoring peacefully. She would never remember this day or the events that took place.

Richie then closed the door behind him and went into his own bedroom, shutting the bedroom door, collapsing onto his bed, and crying until he fell asleep.  

He told his friends what happened the next day. Ben had mentioned hearing sirens from across town when he and Mike had gone to pick up groceries together and wondered what went down. Richie had gone still but eventually knew he couldn’t keep anything a secret from these guys. They were his best friends and they told each other everything. After what they had all been through there were no such things as secrets.

‘Gheez, Rich.’ Eddie had breathed out after he was done telling his story. ‘That’s horrible.’

‘Are you okay?’ Ben asked whilst placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Richie shrugged, taking a drag of his Winston.

‘It’s gonna keep happening if we keep her out of the hospital.’ He said. ‘It’s the best thing to put her away.’

Eddie winced. ‘Don’t call it that. You’re helping her, Rich. Not locking her up and throwing away the key.’

‘We’re putting her in the loony bin is what we’re doing.’

‘That’s kind of heartless, don’t you think?’ Mike asked and everyone turned to him. He flushed. ‘Calling it the loony bin, not putting her in the hospital.’

Richie snorted. ‘I’m right though, aren’t I? Pops used to call it that all the time, but now Mom’s going there suddenly it’s just the hospital.’

_It’s the buh-buh-best thing fuh-for her health, Ruh-Ruh-Richie._

That’s what Big Bill would have said if he was there. Bill always knew what to say to make the others feel better, or he’d try to at least. But he had moved to Bangor almost four years ago and Richie was never any good at reaching out to people close to him let alone long distance. Besides, Bill had recently lost his own Dad to cancer so there was no way Richie was about to burden him with his own parental issues. Bill had enough on his plate dealing with his mother. She had lost her youngest son and her husband and was left with her eldest who she never seemed to care about in the first place. Richie selfishly wished he had never left Derry. He needed Bill now more than ever. But Bill had to leave, he couldn’t stay in this cursed town anymore, not after what happened to Georgie. To the seven of them. Beverly leaving in the middle of the night last year made even more sense now. She couldn’t stand living here either.

Richie sighed and flicked some ash off of his cigarette.

‘This blows.’ He said quietly. The boys sat around him all nodded. They could scarcely imagine what he was going through. They had problems of their own, Eddie’s were with his mother too, but nothing like this. They had only recently found out about this anyway and the information hadn’t really sunken in just yet.

Stan, who wasn’t there at the time, had been the first to know about Maggie’s Alzheimer's because his mother told him. Andrea Uris had been one of Maggie’s longest friends besides Jessica Hanlon and knew everything about her. Wentworth had mentioned it to her over the phone when Maggie was first diagnosed and had cried about it for hours. She had cried even more when she spotted Maggie on the street, waved, and got a confused look in return. She had seen right through her as if she wasn’t there. Maggie had completely forgotten her childhood friend, and Andrea would never get over that.

When Stan went to Richie to comfort him Richie had shut him out, not wanting to discuss the ins and outs of his mother’s disease. But it only took two days for him to come running into Stan’s room crying. It had been after his 17th birthday and his Mother had completely forgotten about it. Normally he wouldn’t care but knowing this meant she was on a much higher stage on the Alzheimer's scale sent Richie into floods of tears. Stan had hugged him for almost an hour before getting any words out of him.

‘She’s gonna forget me, Stan.’ He whimpered. ‘She’s gonna forget she gave birth to me.’ Stan didn’t know what else to do except hug him tighter.

Maggie did her best to keep her memory intact after the police incident. She had no idea what went on but noticed the stiff looks on her husband’s face whenever she entered a room and the look of sadness in her son’s eyes whenever she smiled at him. She seemed to know something was wrong, but never asked them about it. She didn’t want to upset them even more.

When she was taken to the hospital permanently, Richie moved out to California to start college. He had gone with her just hours before his flight, bags packed into the back of his Dad’s car and his passport stuffed into the butt pocket of his skinny jeans. He had to say one last goodbye to her before leaving. He’d kick his own scrawny ass if he didn’t.

‘This place is very quiet.’ His mother had said as he led her through the hospital hallways. ‘Do you think they have music that they listen to? I’d need some music on. I wouldn’t get anything done in total silence!’ She laughed to herself and Richie thought he heard Wentworth hold back a sob from behind them. Richie kept a firm grip on his mother’s hand until they got to her assigned room. The doctors said that they’d take good care of her here, that she wouldn’t be in any danger or get confused if it was a place she had no memories in. That meant Wentworth was going to be living in that big empty house all alone. Richie had almost ripped up his college application to stay with him.

‘They have radios in the rooms,’ Richie explained. ‘they won’t let ya sit in silence, Mags, don’t you worry.’ She laughed at the nickname.

‘It’s Maggie, dear. No one calls me Mags anymore.’ Richie could practically hear his father’s heartbreaking.

Her room was quite large considering the size of Derry Home Hospital. It was a standard four corner room with a large single bed with bars on either side to help patients get in and out. Maggie wouldn’t need those, hopefully. There was a chest of drawers opposite the bed with a TV mounted above it. It wasn’t anything fancy and it looked dated but it was better than nothing. On the small side table near the window, there was a purple vase with some lilies inside, a few magazines piled up and just as Richie promised, a simple white radio. Maggie smiled.

‘Oh, this will do nicely.’ She said, letting go of Richie’s hand and making her way over to the bed. She perched on it, her tiny frame engulfed, and smiled at the two men in the doorway. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ Richie shook his head.

‘Nah, got a flight to catch.’

‘Oh! Where are you headed?’

He tried his best to keep his smile going. ‘California, I’m going to College there. Good ol’ California State.’

‘What do you plan on majoring in?’ Maggie asked curiously, not realizing she had already had this conversation nine times that past month.

‘Theatre!’ Richie beamed. Wentworth shuffled awkwardly beside him. ‘Can’t you tell I have a slight spring in my step?’ He even went as far as jumping and kicking the heels of his feet together, sending Maggie into a fit of giggles. Even his father cracked a smile.

‘You really are suited for the stage.’ She grinned. ‘I hope everything goes well. I’m sure you’ll do great out there…uh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t even know your name.’ Richie’s heart shattered as he smiled at her.

‘Richie, ma’am. The name’s Richie.’ _And I’m your son._

 

***

 

California weather could be shit at the best of times, especially when it decided to rain for a week straight or when the temperature was so high you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. You would eventually get used to it if you lived there for long enough, but if you were a newcomer and were used to chillier temperatures, California, LA specifically, might not be the ideal destination for you.

Richie had lived in his little one-bedroom apartment in downtown LA for almost two years and had grown to enjoy the weather. Sometimes. When his air conditioner didn’t work that was when his hatred for the sun started to settle in. He had gotten used to sitting on his couch in his boxers and sweating like a pig whilst chugging down iced tea until the maintenance man arrived and even then, it took another hour or two for the guy to actually fix it.

On the day his father called him, his air conditioning had stopped working again. It hadn’t been at a bad time, which was a rare occurrence, but just as he was leaving for his weekly comedy club appearance. He had just unlocked the front door as he heard the familiar wirring of the fan die down to silence and he sighed, staring up at the vents over his head.

‘You piece o’ shit, you really gonna stop like that, huh?’ He asked them. As he suspected, they didn’t respond. ‘Aw, you shy now? Fuck you!’ He slammed his front door and locked it before he got into a fistfight with the air conditioning, and whistled as he walked down the three flights of stairs to the streets below.

His apartment complex was only a ten-minute walk to the comedy club and he took his time, for once he was early. He didn’t need music like most of the people around him, ears stuffed with air pods and completely blocking out the world. Richie preferred to just whistle or hum a tune and walk down the street listening to the cars honking and the people bustling past him. It was nice to be in a busy place compared to Derry where everything was quiet streets and hushed voices. Like everyone was keeping secrets from each other.

That hadn’t been entirely untrue, either.

His gig tonight was at a place called The Joke Shop, and it was his biggest gig yet. It had miraculously sold out within a few days and he had spent an hour jumping around his apartment cheering after his agent told him. His small gigs at bars and clubs had really gotten word out about his talent and he was slowly climbing the success ladder with each passing day. Richie’s comedy was raw, relatable and down right dirty, but people loved him. He had men hollering his most well known one liners at him from their cars and women coming up to him in Starbucks asking for pictures, and Richie more than happily obliged.

He could never say no to a pretty young gal who giggled at his jokes and blushed when he complimented her with a signature wink.

His growing fame had gotten him plenty of wanted attention from women and men when he went out drinking with his buddies from college. California State had landed Richie a solid group of friends that went out partying every weekend and enjoyed his company more than he expected. He was used to the unimpressed scoffs and bored sighs of the people from his hometown, not the love and admiration from the people in LA, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Getting your rocks off because someone thinks you’re funny was way better than getting your rocks off because someone feels sorry for you. That was the only lesson he had taken away from college.

And at least he had friends he could rely on. There were a few names that floated around his head sometimes when he was lying in bed, names that he thought he recognised. Names that held deep meaning to him in his heart. He felt like he should have known the faces of those names, known why they made his chest ache. Why they made him feel happy. But he couldn’t so he ignored the nagging feeling in his brain and continued to drink and dance and make people cry with laughter.

That’s all he had wanted after he moved, and he got it.

But then his father decided to call him when he was halfway through his walk to the comedy club and fuck it all up for him. His phone had been vibrating for a solid 10 seconds before he actually realised, and Richie took it out to check the caller ID.

_Pops._

He smiled. He hadn’t heard from Wentworth in a little while. Apparently, the hospital bills were starting to pile up and he had been stressed for the past few months. Too stressed to talk. That’s why Richie had been sending him cheques to help out. Wentworth wanted to refuse but with the amount of debt he still had yet to pay off piling on top of him he didn’t have much of a choice.

Richie pressed the green button on his phone to answer and held it up to his ear, grinning as he pulled a cigarette from his back pocket.

‘Long-time no phone call, old man! How’s tricks?’

Silence. ‘Richard? Are you available to talk?’

Richie scoffed at his father and fumbled with his lighter, trying to flick it on whilst balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder.

‘Coursh! N’ver gonna shay no to you!’ He said, cigarette stuffed into his mouth and muffling his voice. ‘Whash up, doc?’

Wentworth seemed to sniffle over the phone and Richie instantly realized something wasn’t right. He slowed his feet down to concentrate and he inhaled.

‘Dad? You okay?’

‘Rich I… it’s your Mom, son.’ Richie felt his heart stop. ‘She isn’t doing so good.’

Richie had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk at that point and felt someone bump into his back. The man walked in front of him, throwing the middle finger and an insult his way, but he couldn’t hear or see him. All he saw was his mother lying in that hospital bed wondering where she was, who she was, and who the strange man sitting beside her crying over a photo of her holding a baby was. He had visited Maggie two years ago, work made it more difficult to travel these days, and she had not only completely forgotten who Richie was, but asked him to leave as his Voices and ridiculous jokes were giving her a headache.

Richie had cried in the bathroom until a nurse found him. He hadn’t gone back to Derry since.

‘What happened?’ He heard himself asking.

Wentworth sighed and Richie could practically see him taking his glasses off to rub at his eyes tiredly. He hadn’t gotten much sleep since Maggie went into the hospital, wanting to stay up and make sure she didn’t panic if she forgot where she was. It had happened a few times, apparently, and Richie was glad he hadn’t been there to see it.

‘The doctors said it’s a blood clot in her brain.’ He explained. ‘The Alzheimer’s it…sometimes it can cut off blood flow to your brain and…Richie, she’s had a stroke.’

The world fell away from beneath his feet. LA was no longer brick and color and technology but an empty black void swirling around Richie’s body. Eating him up and keeping his chest tight. His heart pounded and he wondered if he was having a heart attack.

A stroke. _Richie, she’s had a stroke._

‘I wouldn’t ask you to come all the way here if it wasn’t urgent, son.’ Wentworth was crying now, sobbing into the phone and wiping at his snotty nose. Richie wanted to throw up. ‘But she…I don’t know if she’s going to recover and I can’t- ‘

_I can’t do this on my own anymore._

‘You won’t, Dad.’ Richie whispered into the receiver, not caring that his cigarette had fallen from his mouth and was now burning away on the ground at his feet. ‘I’ll come home.’

Richie booked a flight not even a minute after his father put the phone down. He called his agent, explaining that he had to leave tonight. At first, she had been angry, but then when Richie brought Maggie into the picture, she went quiet. She canceled his show and Richie packed his suitcase.

_I’ll come home._

It was a promise he, unfortunately, had to keep. Just like the one he had made with his six best friends. The memory flashed through his mind when the plane took off and he sat up in his seat.

_Beverly Marsh._

_Ben Hanscom._

_Stanley Uris._

_Mike Hanlon._

_Bill Denbrough._

He remembered them. He finally remembered them all from his dreams. Dreams of a sewer and a clown and his closest friends in the world. The family that he chose. Then he frowned. Hadn’t there been someone else?

A cough startled him out of his daydream and he glanced up to see someone was standing beside his seat with their carry-on luggage.

‘Sorry, my seat is next to yours. By the window?’ The man said with a soft voice. ‘Do you mind if I- ‘

‘Eddie?’ Richie breathed. The man stared at him, and then something passed between the two of them. Memories of laughter and jokes and cheek kisses and blushes. Nicknames flashed through Richie’s mind at a million miles an hour and he felt as though he was going to faint. Time stopped as the man instantly recognized him after four years of not seeing his face.

_‘Richie?’_


	2. Mike Hanlon buys a book

Junior had been barking nonstop for almost five minutes, and that’s how Mike knew they were here. The businessmen. This wasn’t their first time arriving at the farm, nor would it be their last, but this time Mike was ready to put his foot down. He was fed up of constantly turning them away whenever they half-heartedly tried to trick him into some sketchy deal when all he wanted was to be left alone. The farm was his home, his safe haven, and having men in suits and black cars and eerie smiles knocking on his door made him uneasy.

The first time they came was when his mother and father were still around back in the early 2000s. Mike was a few weeks away from graduating high school and was busy finishing off a project that was due the next day with Eddie and Stan when the front doorbell rang throughout the farmhouse. Eddie’s head had whipped up and Stan jumped in surprise. It had been rather peaceful for the past two hours they had been working so it was a bit irritating to be so abruptly interrupted. Mike could hear his mother’s voice from across the room talking politely to someone on the other side of the door and his natural instinct was to go over and peer over her shoulder. Although, he had grown a lot since his freshman year so there would be no peering. He’d simply have to stand behind his mother and look out. She was barely up to his shoulder, being such a petite woman anyway, and Mike took after his father. Tall, broad shoulders, thick muscles, and glare so cold you’d get shivers. Just like Will Hanlon, however, he was a complete sweetheart underneath that harsh exterior. You just needed to have a thick skin to get by in this town.

Mike had to learn the hard way.

‘Ma’am, with all due respect- ‘The voice had started saying just as Mike rounded the corner where the front door was. His mother was white knuckle gripping the front door handle and Mike could instantly tell something was up.

‘And I’m tellin you, _Mista_ ,’ she began in her firm ‘no shit taking’ tone. ‘that we ain’t sellin’. This house and this farm have been in our family for generations, we ain’t gonna throw it away just cos’ you’re wearin’ a fancy suit and flashin’ your business card and cheque book in my face.’ Mike felt a sense of pride swell in his chest and he wanted to smirk at the man. His mom really did know how to put people in their place.

The man at the door licked his teeth and smiled at her, then he noticed Mike standing behind her and paused.

‘Ah, this must be the man of the house?’ He questioned. Mike almost laughed at him.

‘No sir. I’m the man of the house’s son.’

The man nodded with an eyebrow raise. ‘You’re tall. How old are you, my boy?’

‘Eighteen this October, sir.’

He looked between Jessica Hanlon and her boy and chuckled. ‘Damn, they must be feeding you well here.’

Jessica narrowed her eyes. ‘Are we done? I’ve said no.’

‘Ma’am- ‘

‘That’s Mrs. Hanlon, to you.’ She interrupted and Mike couldn’t hide the smirk this time.

‘Mrs. Hanlon,’ the man corrected himself ‘we are willing to offer you a great sum of money, I’m not sure if you quite understand how valuable this land you own really is. If you just considered- ‘

Jessica stepped out onto the porch to get into the man's face and he seemed to back off. He was intimidated, anyone would be by Mike’s mother if you got on her bad side. Richie had been very close a number of times.

‘I don’t discuss or consider no business without my husband present. Now, he ain’t here, I’ve told you that. It’s his land, it’s his property, and it’s his decision. I ain’t havin’ nothin’ to do with this until he comes back. Ya, hear me?’ The man shut his mouth and blinked at her for a moment, not knowing how to respond. He snuck a glance in Mike’s direction and was met with him crossing his arms and raising a challenging eyebrow. The man in the suit stiffened and then forced an even bigger smile onto his face.

‘Well, I’ll try to return when he’s back in town.’

‘Yeah. You do that.’ Jessica practically hissed at him as he turned and marched down the driveway towards his garish sports car. It was an ugly orange color and Mike wondered how no one in town had thrown anything at it. Derry was old fashioned and nowhere near ready to tackle the new age of technology and fashion and cars. But this man was clearly from somewhere a lot cleaner and a lot more modern. Wherever it was, Mike hoped he stayed there.

He didn’t. He drove back two weeks later.

‘Why does he keep bothering us?’ Mike asked his parents at dinner. Will Hanlon, who was sat at the head of the table sipping a cup of hot cocoa, shrugged his shoulders.

‘Honestly son? I have no damn clue. Them sonsabitches have been sniffing ‘round here for years. We just never interacted with ‘em till now.’

He made the poor choice of looking over at his wife and Jessica glared at him.

‘Don’t you pin this on me, William!’ She pointed her finger at him. ‘What else was I s’pose to do? Chase him off with a damn broom?’ Will chuckled at that.

‘Wouldn’t have hurt to try.’ Mike smiled.

Jessica tutted and shook her head at her husband. ‘You men. Always wantin’ to solve your problems with violence.’

Will shrugged at her and stuffed some mash potato into his mouth. ‘You gotta do what ya gotta do, my love. This farm ain’t goin’ nowhere so we’re gon’ fight for it.’ In that moment, Mike realised that he would never leave this farm. Not that he particularly wanted to. He was happy here, it was his home. He loved feeding the animals and working on the tractors with his father until nightfall, picking vegetables to help his mother with dinner. It was exhausting, of course, but nothing made him feel prouder than a long day of work.

His friends would often come over to see what all the fuss was about but eventually realised that manual labour wasn’t for them. Well, Richie and Eddie mostly. Ben was actually pretty helpful due to him having a keen eye for architecture and he even helped Will and Mike and some of the neighbour kids fix up their barn. Ben had drawn up a rough plan for a new greenhouse once, too – it still looked incredibly detailed, rough or not – and spent most of his sophomore year helping Mike put it together. Just the two of them. Will had come back from one of his farmers market trips and almost cried at the sight of it. He had been meaning to build it himself but he allowed the boys to do it for him. He wanted to see what they came up with and so he just let them run wild with tools and plywood and glass and patiently waited for the end result.

Jessica was worried the boys would hurt themselves doing it but Will had a lot of faith in Mike and Ben. And rightfully so, since the greenhouse still stood tall and proud in the backyard almost eight years later.

Mike looked at it from his bedroom window, admiring the sun reflecting off the glass roof and how ripe the tomatoes were starting to look. He smiled. He still needed to show Ben one day. Well, that is if he ever found out where he was.

Mike had been the only one out of the seven to stay in Derry, and that had been purely his choice. He didn’t fancy living in some big city or moving away across the country. He hated Derry, yes, but he had jobs to do. And not all of them involved the farm.

After his father passed away in 2014, and his mother later the next year, Mike vowed to take the farm as his own and build it up stronger and more efficient than ever. At only 22 he had already enlisted the help of twelve kids to come and do jobs for him across the farm. It varied from taking care of the animals to cleaning out the pens, picking vegetables in the summer and waiting until spring to replant some more, cutting down trees for firewood so he wouldn’t get cold in the winter, using the tractors and cleaning out the barn. He paid them quite handsomely and they always came back for more. He was a kind man with smile lines and eyes you could get lost in. He was charismatic and funny and full of energy and the kids loved that about Mike Hanlon.

Plus, he was helping them pay for their weekly movie trips or gas money and that was more than enough to convince them to stay. Mike being Mike was just an added bonus.

The kids weren’t coming over this weekend, Mike had given them some time off to have fun during the summer. He was generous like that. A couple of them still asked if they could come pet the horses and see the new baby pigs and Mike had granted them that. They had come over early that morning, a young girl called Mia and the identical twins, Finch and Troy. They were good kids and enjoyed Mike’s company as he told them stories of his father and his friends, how life was like growing up on the farm, and they would sit together with the animals drinking lemonade and eating chocolate chip cookies. The recipe had been his grandmothers and it had been passed down from her mother and grandmother. Mike had baked them the night before and kept them nice and warm and chewy for the kids and they seemed more than grateful.

Mike was surprisingly good at baking which his mother wasn’t expecting. She had taught him all of her recipes for soups and casseroles and cakes and he seemed to memorise them instantly. She watched him make her signature mushroom soup and when she tried it at supper that evening, she jumped up from the table and ran over to Mike to kiss the top of his head, beaming with pride.

‘My boy, you can do just about everythin’, can’t you?’ She smiled and Mike had blushed harder than ever.

Now, looking back on those days, Mike was happy his mother had trusted him enough to share her secrets with him. He liked giving to others and that meant putting himself to the test and trying new things. Food was always a fun little science experiment to him, and he often wished he had someone around to share it all with. That made his heart ache in his chest. He wished the others were here.

When the businessmen came back to the farm, Mike watched them drive up the winding path towards the house with tired eyes. He knew they were coming back eventually, they hadn’t given up even when Will had passed and handed the rights to the farm over to his son. If anything, once Mike was in charge, they tried more. They wanted his land and they were willing to pay a ridiculous amount to get it. Apparently, they wanted to build an apartment complex and even a mall in Derry to bring more business and people in. Mike’s land, and the neighbouring farm that used to belong to Butch Bowers and his family, was the perfect size for both of those things.

The only problem was, the Hanlon’s had owned their part of the land for generations. The businessmen could have the Bowers land, no one lived their anymore, and after the scandal with Henry back in the summer of 1999 – Mike winced at that – no one wanted to live there. They had ripped the farmhouse down and completely flattened the earth underneath it to make it easier for the bulldozers to come in. Now, they just needed Mike’s land to finish the job. But Mike was a Hanlon, and the Hanlon’s were too damn stubborn for their own good.

The cars the men were driving weren’t as flashy as they once had been. They were tall, black and sleek and drove quietly through the wilderness as if hunting for prey. Most modern cars in the city were electric nowadays whereas in Derry most people still had beat up trucks and rusted cars that you had to jumpstart if you wanted to go into town for groceries. Derry wasn’t progressing like the rest of the world. If it wasn’t for the Sephora or the refurbished Aladdin Theatre, the town would have looked straight out of an 80’s movie.

Junior, Mike’s black and white Collie, and closest friend, had heard the cars at the same time Mike had. He had bounded over to the front door and jumped on his hind legs to see who was coming and began barking the moment he didn’t recognise the cars. Mike sighed at him and let him bark, hoping that maybe he’d be loud enough to scare them away. He wasn’t, and someone still knocked on his door.

Mike stood up from his armchair, his fathers’ old armchair, and made his way over to the front door. He dragged Junior down and shooed him off, watching as the dog knowingly went over to his bed and curled up in it. He was the most well-behaved dog Mike had ever owned and he smiled at him.

‘Good boy. Stay right there, okay? No one’s gonna do anything.’ The dog seemed to understand him and rested his head over his folded paws. Mike turned back to the door and took a deep breath. ‘Lord, give me strength.’ He muttered before turning the door handle.

The man smiled a little too wide for Mike’s liking and he thrust his hand out for him to shake.

‘Morning, sir!’ The man said whilst Mike gingerly took his hand. The shake was tight and harsh and Mike winced before he let go. ‘I presume this is your property?’

_Yeah, and you would know. You’ve been here every three months for the past year._

‘That’s correct.’ Mike nodded, leaning against the doorframe.

‘Well, are you aware that this particular land is extremely- ‘

‘Valuable?’ Mike finished for him. The man blinked, clearly not expecting that, but then smiled wider. ‘I’ve heard its worth a few thousand.’

‘Indeed, it is! Has someone from my company already talked to you?’

Mike resisted the urge to scoff. ‘Ayuh. A few people have come knocking. I’ve told them the same thing my father and my mother told them.’ The man stared up at him in shock. Mike didn’t let his anger get the better of him, ever. He was one of the calmest men in Derry and he took pride in that. He never got lost in rage or started fights with anybody. He minded his own business and kept a low profile. Focusing on the farm and… _whatever was down in the sewers._

‘And that is?’ Poor guy, he was hopeful.

‘I won’t sell. This land is mine. It’s been in my family’s name for generations and I’m sorry, _no_ amount of money could get me to sell it.’ The man swallowed and shuffled from foot to foot on the gravel. It crunched under his weight and Junior’s head lifted out of curiosity from behind Mike. ‘And, if you pardon my bluntness, I would appreciate it if you and the rest of your business partners could stop traipsing around my yard trying to persuade me to do otherwise. It’s getting annoying, quite frankly, and I have much better and much more important things to do than listen to you give me offer after offer.’ Mike squared his shoulders and nodded his head towards the man’s shiny BMW. ‘Now, I suggest you get back into your car, and get out of this town.’ Mike smirked. ‘Because trust me, there’s plenty of other people willing to chase you out of here with guns and pitchforks besides me.’

The man was stunned silent and his mouth was hanging open. Mike raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I’d close your mouth, sir.’ He said. ‘You’ll catch flies.’ And with that, he shut the door.

Mike let out the breath he had been holding and slumped against the kitchen counter in relief. Thank god, that was finally over. Again. Junior bounded over to him and Mike smiled down at his closest companion.

‘I do okay, boy? I wasn’t too harsh on him?’ Junior nuzzled into his hand, licking at his palm, and Mike nodded. ‘Yeah. I thought so too. How about we have lunch, huh?’

 

***

 

It was a week later when Mike decided he wanted to buy a new book. He had read through his entire book collection at home and was fed up of re-watching Netflix shows past 3am. Movies and TV just didn’t give him the same kick that novels did.

He was an old-fashioned guy. He wanted to fall in love with a new book, something that would grip him and keep him on edge like they did when he was a child. He loved reading, and going to the library with Ben and Stan when they were younger was one of his favourite things to do on the weekends. Sure, the Barrens and the Clubhouse were great, but just sitting in silence together reading? Mike really missed that.

He missed a lot of things.

He had woken up that morning with the motivation to buy a book, and so he hopped out of bed bright and early, took his time showering and shaving his face, and picked out some simple jeans, a green shirt and a black bomber jacket. It wasn’t fancy, but then again, he had no real reason to dress up fancy nowadays.

Junior patiently waited for him at the breakfast table, but he ruffled his dogs’ fur and smiled down at him. He crouched so they were eyelevel and he cupped his face in his hands, laughing as Junior stuck his tongue out to pant.

‘I’m going out for a bit, you be good and guard the house, okay?’ Junior whined in response. ‘I won’t be long, I promise. And maybe I’ll bring you a few treats back. How’s that sound?’ As if he could properly understand English, Junior barked and wagged his tail. Mike kissed the top of his head and stood back up before grabbing the keys to his truck and heading out.

Town was only a few minutes’ drive so he turned the radio on to drown out the silence. An unfamiliar song filled his truck but Mike didn’t mind. Discovering new music was also a favourite pastime of his, and most of his Spotify history was randomised due to him just finding playlists and letting them play in their entirety. He sometimes wrote down different artists and bands and if he liked a particular song, he’d queue it so he could hear it again. Will had once done a similar thing but with old vinyls.

He’d go into the local Derry Music Shop and pick out a record at random – sometimes it depended on his mood or the weather, whatever the ‘theme’ of the day seemed to be – and he’d purchase it without any clue on what it sounded like. Most of the time the songs weren’t that good and the sound of screeching violins or haunting electronic base would flood the farmhouse. Jessica would go mad at her husband for it, but Will carried on doing it. And now, Mike was doing the same but in his own way.

He smiled to himself. He really was his father’s son.

He was halfway towards town when the radio started to go static. Mike paused as the street signs suddenly came into view. A shiver ran up his spine.

_Jackson and Whitcham. This is where Georgie died._

He hadn’t meant to drive through this part of town. In fact, he _never_ drove down this street unless it was absolutely necessary. The only other time had been when they were doing road works in the centre of town and he had to take the long way around. The long way meant driving through Bill’s old street, where the ‘haunted’ Denbrough house still stood and where the memory – and legend amongst the kids living in Derry – of Georgie Denbrough lived on.

Mike had never actually met Georgie, but he heard a great number of stories about him from his brother, from Eddie, and even from Stan and Richie. Eddie had met him first when Georgie was 4 years old and he and Bill were both 8. Georgie had been finger-painting in the backyard that day and the moment he had seen Eddie he had giggled, ran up to him, and started poking him with his paint covered fingers. Bill laughed every time he had retold the story, going into great detail about how Eddie had shrieked in horror and almost shoved Georgie away from him.

The kid adored him, however, and thought Eddie was funny. Almost funnier than Bill or his weird friend with the glasses. Mike had often referred to Richie as ‘their weird friend with the glasses’ since finding that out. Richie never minded, though. The more nicknames, the better.

Those memories flashed through his mind as his truck started to jerk and splutter on the road leading up towards Bill’s old house. Mike frowned and grabbed the gear shift, trying to get the truck back to normal, when the radio started to come back to life. At first, Mike couldn’t make out what was playing. It was rhythmic and slow, but then seemed to gain speed and pitch as he passed the house. The moment he did, however, the song abruptly switched back to the radio and the truck jerked once more before going back to normal. Mike had to stop the truck, putting it into park, before turning around in his seat to stare at the house. He remembered it a little from his childhood, but not much. The house had always creeped him out. It was way too big and dark compared to the others houses lining the conjoining streets of Jackson and Whitcham, and another shiver ran up his spine before he turned back around, shook his head, and continued on with his journey towards town.

The song that had played, he would later realise whilst lying in bed reading his new book, had been Fur Elise. The song Sharon Denbrough had played on the piano the night Georgie died.

The book store Mike went to was owned by a nice, quiet old man that went by the name of Jenkins, and Mike greeted him once he stepped inside.

‘Ah, Michael!’ Jenkins beamed, peering out over his tiny spectacles. ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ He was a greying man in his late 70’s that absolutely should not have been working at his age, but refused to do anything else. He had told Mike on several occasions that all his kids and grandkids were trying to get him to go into a home or at least have a live-in carer. But Jenkins always said the same thing in retaliation:

_‘If I stop doing what I love, I was never truly in love with it.’_ And Mike had kept that with him.

Mike smiled at the old man and waved a hand at him.

‘It sure is beautiful, got any new stuff today?’ He asked. Jenkins thought for a moment before his face lit up.

‘You know, we did just get a new shipment of paperbacks the other morning! I meant to send you a letter or have one of those kids that works on your farm to tell you but, you know how old my memory is, can’t remember to wear my shirt on the right way most days!’ Mike shook his head at him.

‘Don’t apologise, Jenkins. I don’t mind waiting. Where did you put them?’ The old man pointed to around the corner of one of the shelves, leading into the back of the store.

‘We didn’t have enough room at the front so I kept most of ‘em near the science fiction stuff. It’s a horror novel apparently, ya know, stuff you shouldn’t be reading before bed.’ Jenkins wiggled his eyebrows at Mike and he had to bite back a laugh. ‘I know you like your scary stories.’

Mike shrugged. ‘I’ll read just about anything.’

‘Ayuh,’ Jenkins agreed. ‘Bought almost every book from me, you have. My best paying customer.’ Mike flushed.

‘Flatterer.’ Jenkins barked out a laugh as Mike went around the corner to hunt down this new book. Whenever Jenkins told him about his latest book arriving Mike was one of the first to buy them. Nowadays most kids in Derry were glued to their phones – seeing as they had nothing else better to do – and tended to ignore the copious amounts of books at their disposal. Mike loved his phone, but he’d be damned if he didn’t think sitting down and reading a good book was better than staring at a screen all day.

The book shop smelt old and musty, dust lining some of the higher shelves due to Jenkins being too frail to reach them anymore. Mike made a mental note to offer to clean them for him and as he peered round the final few shelves, he saw a small display at the far end of the store. There were shelves lined either side of him, acting as a corridor, and he stepped into them curiously. The makeshift corridor seemed to last forever and Mike felt an odd sensation come over him. He felt as if he was no longer walking towards the stack of books, but rather behind pushed. He had had that very same feeling years before, and he felt his skin grow clammy at the memory.

_This isn’t the time, Mike. You’re just buying a book. Don’t work yourself up over it, dummy. You can panic in the safety of your own home._

This book was nothing like he had seen in the store so far. It was illustrated like a graphic novel with neon colours and lettering across the front, and Mike couldn’t take his eyes off of it. The book was titled ‘THE BLACK RAPIDS’ and the green lettering almost burnt Mike’s eyes it was so bright. It almost seemed like the book itself was glowing, but that was impossible.

He reached a tentative hand out, picking the book up and turning it over in his palm, wanting to read the summary, when something on the back made his heart stop.

_A novel by Bill Denbrough._

Mike felt the area around him freeze up and stiffen like the leaves on the trees did in the middle of winter. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, all he could do was stare at the name of his childhood best friend and wonder why on earth he even bothered to leave the house today.

_Bill. This is Bill’s book. How did I find Bill’s book? Is this fate? Was I supposed to find it?_

He thought about Bill and the others every day, he missed them more than anything, but he had never once found or heard any trace of them since they left. He assumed Bill was writing, he had started in the months after Georgie died, and had sometimes told Mike of the short stories he wrote on his old typewriter.

Beverly must have gone into the fashion industry, throughout the short years she had attended high school with them, she helped the boys with their styles and even agreed to redecorate Mike’s wardrobe for him. But she had left only a week after that promise, and Mike hadn’t seen her since. He knew that if he did see her again – no, _when_ – that he would go shopping with her. Live up to that promise they made all those years ago.

Eddie would maybe be working with cars, Mike remembered how much he loved tinkering with the truck on the farm and sharing tips with his father. Ben was most likely drawing up plans for some huge building out in the big city. Stan would be making big bucks using his skills in math and business to do things Mike could never even dream of understanding let alone doing. And Richie, well, Richie was probably out there making people laugh. He had been good at that.

But right now, Mike only had one determined fact about his friends. Bill was alive, Bill was out there, and Bill was writing books. Books that were being sold in a Derry book store of all places. Mike then realised something and scrabbled to get to the author’s note of the novel. There was a portrait of Bill inside and Mike stared at it for a long, long time.

Bill had been the group’s leader for most of their lives, and every single one of them had agreed that he was beyond beautiful. Fiery red hair that matched Beverly’s and bright blue eyes that lit up in the summer and darkened in the winter. He was tall, strong, and the kindest, bravest kid Mike had ever met. And looking down at his picture, Mike realised he had just gotten better with age.

He was also 22, possibly turning 23 in a few short months if Mike’s memory served him well, and his features had only gotten stronger. His jawline was more defined, his brow sterner, and his lips a lot fuller. Mike couldn’t stop staring at the picture and he felt his hand reach out to drag a finger across the side of Bill’s face. He felt a fluttering in his stomach.

_I wonder if he remembers me?_

As he thought that, a sound from the other end of the corridor made Mike freeze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a child’s laughter echoed out through the store and without thinking, he spun around to face the person behind it. He expected to see someone standing there waiting for him, to pounce when he least expected it, but instead Mike was greeted with nothing but the lines of shelves and dusty old books. He sighed, relief washing over him at the realisation that his mind had been playing tricks on him, and he snapped the novel shut before slowly making his way back towards the front of the store to where Jenkins was patiently waiting for him. The old man smiled and nodded at the book.

‘I had a feeling you’d pick that one up.’

Mike forced a smiled.

_You and me both, Jenkins,_ he thought to himself as he rang the book up for him. Mike peered out of the store window, and if he had been paying more attention, he might have seen the shimmer of a yellow raincoat in the lower corner of the window, making its way back towards the route he had taken without realising. Back towards Jackson and Whitcham.

_Back towards the storm drain._


End file.
